Diminished Resources
by shimmersing
Summary: Newly partnered Jedi Consular Aitahea and Trooper Erithon are sent to a seedy Nar Shaddaa club on a stakeout. When things get a little complicated, they look for a way to go undercover... [SWTOR]


"We have a problem." Aitahea peered over the edge of her glass at Erithon as the soldier scanned the room. It was one of the hundreds of noisy, flashy, sticky clubs on Nar Shaddaa, no different than the others. Except that they were on a stakeout. And now, Aitahea suspected, they'd been made.

This undercover surveillance made the consular edgy. Straightforward confrontation was usually simpler, if not always easier. Not to mention more comfortable. She fought the urge to tug her silvery skirt lower over her thighs; no point in doing that as it would just expose her midriff. At least the top had a reasonable neckline… if she were being generous. And if she didn't move.

"What is it?" Erithon asked. He was propped back against the bar to her right, elbows on the counter and one heel hooked over the foot rail. His blue eyes were still vigilant, but he looked far more relaxed than Aitahea felt. Not to mention his 'disguise' of understated pants and jacket was distinctly more practical than her own. "Not another tipsy smuggler eyeing the prettiest girl here?"

Scandalized, Aitahea swiveled the stool she was perched on toward Erithon and placed the glass to her lips to camouflage her dry response. "No. The emotions attached to this one are far less objectionable." She canted her head to the left under the guise of flipping her hair back, silvery waves sliding back over her bare shoulder. Erithon's eyes followed her motion, reversing a worried scowl to a joking grin as he turned back to the disguised Jedi and nodded.

"Blast. SIS should have kept this job to themselves. 'Diminished resources' my ass," he growled through the faked smile and plucked the glass from her hands. "Here, come on." Erithon pushed the drink – just water – back across the bar and held out a hand to Aitahea.

"What?" Aitahea asked, taking his proffered hand as she slid off the high seat. "Where are we going? We can't leave yet." He circled around to her left and began to lead her away by the elbow.

He pulled her to a shadowed corner, away from the flashing, kaleidoscopic lights of the dancefloor. "We aren't leaving. That'd be a dead giveaway," he explained, releasing her arm to reach up and push her hair over her shoulder again.

Aitahea's brows drew together. Erithon's Force signature, usually so confident and disciplined, now had a devious streak coursing through it. He was up to something. "So, what then?"

He leaned in close, lips next to her ear. "Just pretend to be my date."

She inadvertently gasped at the feel of his breath against her skin, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. "Excuse me?"

He pulled away just enough to scan the room over the top of her head. "They're looking for a Republic officer and a Jedi, not two kids out on the town."

Well, at least I look the part now, Aitahea thought with some chagrin. "Lieuten-" she bit back the honorific and started again. "I see."

"Don't worry." He laughed, sliding the hand on her shoulder down her spine to encircle her waist, pulling them closer. She fought the sudden quiver in her legs. "Just act casual."

A breathless laugh exploded from her lips as she pressed her hands to his chest. His heartbeat fluttered under her hands, an echo of her own. They remained that way for a few minutes, swaying slightly to the tempo of the club's pounding music.

He bent close again, his cheek against her temple. "So, are we still suspect?"

"Yes." She dipped her head slightly, seeking the hostile presence that tracked them. There. Farther away, but no less vigilant. "Less so, but we're still being watched."

His fingers tightened on her waist for a moment as he looked past her. "Let them watch this then."

He kissed her. Not just a little kiss, either, but a searing kiss with one of his hands tangled in her hair and the other so tight around her waist there was no space left between them and by the Force she was sliding her own arms around his neck and stretching up on her toes and it was only when Erithon pulled away that Aitahea realized her eyes were closed.

She was relieved to see his gaze focused across the room, giving her the time to hide the disappointment in her own. He glanced back at her briefly before pressing his lips to her temple and whispering.

"How about now?"

It seemed like she might never regain control of her rampaging emotions, but when she finally reached out, there was no significant attention on them, no scrutiny or suspicion. All she could feel were a few faded spikes of jealousy, quickly dwindling.

"We're safe," she replied, pulling back to catch his eyes. He considered her in silence for a few moments before breaking out one of his charming crooked smiles, cupping her cheek with the same hand that had been in her hair moments before.

"Sorry," he said, making no move to release her.

The Jedi's eyebrows shot up. "You are not!" she blurted, belatedly clapping a hand over her mouth and flushing bright pink once again.

His smile broadened. "I guess I'm not, after all." He pulled her hand away from her lips and grasped it tightly as he turned toward the exit. "I think we can make our escape now."

Aitahea allowed Erithon to lead her out of the club, and while his attention was on the exit she reached up with trembling fingers to place them against her lips.

Not sorry at all.


End file.
